


Cannonball

by Ludella



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-25 01:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12025185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludella/pseuds/Ludella
Summary: Every year, Merle returns to them with more information on The Hunger after parley. Davenport takes it upon himself to study every single word, every ounce of data given to him, for the sake of their crew.But eventually, all Merle has to bring home are details about a human man and his handsome face. Davenport studies those too, and eventually, finds himself becoming a little more than intrigued with the man in The Hunger.He's fascinated with and horrified by John, the 'captain' of The Hunger.





	1. Man in the Notes

**Author's Note:**

> theres a good couple dozen parleys where we can assume merle didn't get a LOT of info. he probably just came back laughing and was like 'yeah john just told the darnedest story from this girl in a world he consumed' and all these personal details
> 
> i fell in love with john through description alone, so will davenport

_ “Just one man.” _

“A man? What was he like?”

_ “Human. Clean cut suit… real handsome features. Middle aged, pretty normal overall.” _

Merle isn’t able to bring a lot of information out of the first parley. It’s frustrating more than anything, though he agrees readily to jump right back in when the next cycle begins. 

Davenport spends the entire year considering his words.

The Hunger was embodied by a human man in a suit--evidently a handsome one at that. He rewrote the words a million times, exactly as Merle said them, and scratched them out every time. ‘Just a man.’ ‘Human.’ ‘Clean cut suit, handsome, middle aged, normal,’ as if the more he sees the words before him, the more normal they’ll become.

But they never do, and even when the next cycle is about to begin, Davenport hasn’t made heads or tails out of the information. There’s nothing they can do with it, and they’re only given more questions than answers.

He kind of wants to strangle Merle for only focusing on his appearance and not anything useful. Davenport’s more equipped to write the man a dating profile than shoot him out of the sky with only his looks to go off of. 

Merle dies at the beginning of the cycle, body turning to ash, and Davenport waits the rest of the time in anxious anticipation for the next time they meet. Surely he’ll have more information to go off of--something useful. Something that won’t drive him in crazy circles trying to decipher.

The next cycle, as soon as their bodies reset, Davenport leaves the helm to find Merle already being interrogated by Barry as Lucretia records every word.

_ “The answer to life and existence.” _

_ “Wanting to grow.” _

_ “Unaware we exist.” _

_ “Told him about the reset.” _

That catches his attention, and Davenport finally intersects to question Merle about the nature of their talks and how they work. Evidently, the Hunger is rather civilized, exchanging information on a question-per-question basis that seems all too sane for the inhumanity they’ve experienced. Merle revealed the secret to their invincibility, and the Hunger explained his motive.

And what a ‘motive’ it was--a load of bullshit, Davenport thinks, chewing on a nail as he thinks over the words carefully. If he isn’t aware he’s following their crew, can knowing their invincibility really hurt? Will he start pursuing them now? If he does, what could they even change about what they’re doing?  _ Could _ they adapt to fight back or avoid him?

Kneeled by Merle’s side, Barry continues questioning him. “Did you not get anything else?”

Merle pauses with a hand on his chin. He looks up with a sort of revelation, and an oddly comfortable smile comes to the dwarf’s face. “John.”

“Pardon?”

“His name is John.”

It’s the most disturbing piece of information Merle has given them yet, and the name alone makes Davenport’s stomach churn.

When they land on the next planet, Merle enters parley, and subsequently dies soon after. They continue as normal seeking the light of creation, capturing it to the best of their abilities, and surviving in their new environment. It’s a calm world, and they’re able to relax as much as they can while missing one of their core members for the majority of the time. A breath of fresh air. There is less war, less fighting in general, and by all means enjoyed more than other worlds preceding.

All the other members leave the planet with memories and stories about their adventures together or experiences with the natives themselves. But Davenport remains steadfast. He spends the entire year rewriting every word Merle said, rivaling Lucretia’s abilities to keep journals even though they’re simply the same sentences repeated over and over again.

At the top of each page, a single, repugnant word haunts him.

John.

He writes it, every page, and subsequently scratches it out when the rest is filled, almost like a ritual, or the opposite of a prayer.

John, the cruel monster who devoured their home world and so many worlds following.

John, the vile creature who killed their friends so many times.

John, the middle-aged human man with a handsome face and clean suit.

The next cycle can’t come faster, and Davenport is right beside Barry when Merle reappears on the deck of the ship. This time, he’s the first to interrogate him.

Merle’s words are etched into his mind.

_ “Used to be human.” _

_ “Had a normal life.” _

_ “Gave him a picture of the ship.” _

If the lack of information before was frustrating before, Davenport is growing furious.

He grabs Merle’s shoulder before anyone can ask him anything else, and the irritation must be evident on his face if Merle’s surprise is anything to go off of. “Anything else, Merle, something--something we can use. You realize we can’t use this, right? None of this is  _ useful _ .”

“It is!” Merle quickly defends himself. “We’re learnin’ about this guy, this--this normal  _ dude _ who just somehow ended up as the Hunger? Don’t you think that’s important, getting to the root of this?”

“He’s got a point.” Davenport turns just enough to see Lucretia looking up from her journals with a somber expression. “If we can find the source of his power and where it came from, it might be the answer to solving everything.”

It’s not the answer he wants, but he puts up with it. Davenport lets go of Merle and allows the dwarf to wander off to where the others are gathered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he continues to think. There’s no telling any of this will actually be helpful, though--Merle has gone in there three times, talked face to face with their enemy  _ three times _ , and all he seems to do is give away information and come back with a new chapter of this  _ man’s _ autobiography.

He’s tempted to just write Merle a script of useful questions or tactics, yet not only would the paper not go through with him to parley, but he would never use it. Merle has always done things his own unique way, and all Davenport can do is hold out hope that eventually he’ll work his weird cleric magic and strike gold.

Magnus chews Merle out for giving John so much tactical information later on anyways, and they can only pray it’s enough of a wake-up call to get the dwarf back on track.

The next cycle, Davenport takes a more active role in the mission to retrieve the light as the world is more hostile than the previous. He continues to rewrites Merle’s account of the meeting with  _ ‘John, _ ’ but less than last year, spending more time thinking as they battle through harsh environments.

If Davenport were in that room with John, he’d ask better, more meaningful questions. He could get information out of him without relaying all the important details of their survival to him, could protect themselves while revealing the Hunger’s weaknesses.

He and Merle are different, and it’s never been so apparent to Davenport as it is now. While Davenport would not hesitate to go all in on this guy, to absolutely wreck him in a battle of wits and word, Merle proceeds differently. He appeals to his humanity, if there’s any left, and half the time he spends in parley is made up of small talk.

It’s baffling, it’s  _ revolting  _ how Merle can stand to sit and chat with the force killing them over and over again, destroying worlds. After everything this ‘man’ has done, all Merle seems to be focused on is making friends.

Davenport pours himself into leading the crew through their current predicament, fighting like his life depends on it. If he were in that room, if only he could parley--he would show that ‘ _ John _ ’ what’s what.

What kind of bastard gets to decide the fate of so many worlds by himself?

When he steers the ship away from the planet at the end of the cycle, unsuccessful in their attempt to retrieve the light, Davenport watches the Hunger chase them over his shoulder. The sheer amount of how much they don’t know about it is terrifying, especially now that it’s a ‘person’ chasing them. He’s always imagined that mass of black opal as a storm or tumultuous ocean, but neither of those are sentient.

Although he makes it out every time, there’s no telling how long he’ll be able to continue sailing out of its way before its pattern changes and they get caught.

If it’s sentient, it can think, and it can learn.

Merle waits for Davenport to arrive on the deck of the ship before giving his account of the parley.

_ “Tying on planes.” _

_ “Light of creation.” _

_ “A bunch of places at once.” _

“Oh, yeah,” Merle says, looking up as if he’s just remembered something. Lucreta glances at him from over her journals, then shares a look with Davenport. “He got pretty cocky this time, talkin’ about how we must think he looks beautiful. Real ass, that guy.”

Quirking a brow, Davenport folds his arms over his chest casually. “Didn’t you already say he was handsome a few years ago?”

“Well, yeah. He means from the outside.”

It makes his blood boil.

A month into the new cycle, Davenport makes use of his journal for more than repeating lines dozens of times. He has a new purpose for it now--venting.

_ ‘Beautiful, he says, as if he should be anything other than contemptible. There is no saying what caused this man, John, to turn into what he is now--Merle can’t get that information out of him, evidently. But I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, who happens to be the same bastard. To be so conceited, devoid of hopes and love of life, is to not exist at all. But what do you do when that is his goal?’ _

The rest of the year passes without significant event, and Merle stays a little longer before going into parley this time. It doesn’t matter if he goes to speak with John at the beginning or end of the year, and so unless there was a particularly taxing conversation last time, Merle learns to wait until the end to disappear.

Although much of his time is spent being consumed by ire, Davenport holds onto another familiar emotion that plagues them all daily, now only stronger; anxiety. Each day that passes goes by either too quickly or slowly, dragging on the ever present reminder that this world too shall soon end if they can’t succeed. Soon, the Hunger will rain down on these lands as it does every year, wreaking havoc on every living thing it can get its claws on and devouring everything in its wake.

He knows more now, though. Every pillar of black opal that fall from the sky is a limb--no, not even, it’s just a simple  _ hair _ on the head of a man named John who was so discontent with life he became this. Every attack and murder is on his hands. Everything is by his own design.

Davenport takes control of the ship with a different thought in mind this time. Instead of any other model they’ve used to contextualize the Hunger before, Davenport changes his thought process as he kicks the Starblaster into action.

It’s no ‘sea’ with waves crashing after them, nor is it a lion clawing at its prey, or a hurricane trying to sweep them up.

Long, black tendrils shoot up from where they cover the planet, aiming for the ship just as Davenport takes them for a nosedive and out of its reach.

The Hunger is a man.

The wheel in his hands spins for a moment by itself until he grips it tight and yanks the ship to the other side. Another column of opal--another  _ finger _ from ‘John’ comes flying by, just narrowly missing.

It’s a different game now. Davenport once thought of the Hunger as a natural phenomenon, like a storm or flood that couldn’t be stopped. But it’s sentient. It thinks, and it feels.

Davenport’s been a captain for no short number of decades now. There’s a difference between steering a ship through tumultuous waters and away from a person.

Within a matter of minutes, the Starblaster is freed from the planet’s atmosphere, and Davenport waits for the wave of ‘reset’ to modify the ship. Magnus has his black eye, Lucretia is on the deck of the ship, the twins are holding hands, Barry watches from the back--and Merle is alive again. Davenport locks the ship into a neutral cruise and allows it to float along by itself as he steps down to join the others.

“So,” Barry says once everyone is gathered, looking to Merle, “what did you learn?”

Davenport doesn’t become angry when Merle is only able to share more personal details about John. He writes them down, commits them to memory.

The sea and the skies are unpredictable forces to wage battle with.

But people?

He has no experience trying to sail through those. The closest he’s come is a rivaling ship, somebody with their own men to command on another vehicle challenging him for clearance.

Perhaps this isn’t so different--perhaps John is just the captain of another ship.

With a very, very large crew.


	2. Man on the Ship

In his field, Davenport was renowned. There was no captain as passionate as him, who rode the waves like an old friend and sailed the skies like a lover. Given, in that day and age, there was little in terms of wars between ships, but he’d experienced them on a smaller scale. Perhaps they weren’t textbook pirates, but they were people and they had a crew and a ship, so there was hardly any difference.

Davenport was by no means a murderer. He doesn’t enjoy engaging in anything that would harm people, no. But if they came at him first? There was little he could do to stop himself from protecting his crew.

He did what was necessary whenever faced with a crisis.

Now was no different.

His outlook on their mission has changed ever since Merle began his parley sessions. They have more information now, more insight into their enemy, and Davenport has done everything within his power to adapt that data into their plan. It didn’t change anything with the rest of the crew, and as far as he knew, Magnus, Taako, and Lup hardly cared about this John guy at all. They were more focused on retrieving the Light every cycle--which is good. They need dedicated members seeing to that just as much.

In an odd way, he almost… looks forward to the end of each year.

He could never take joy in knowing people, entire species and planets are dying, of course not. As passionate as he is towards their cause, Davenport remembers why they’re here and what they’re doing just as much as the rest. He partakes in the retrieval of the Light with every cycle as needed, stays on the ship when not.

The only time he can shine, can really do what he was  _ born _ to is at the end of every cycle.

It’s fulfilling, satisfying more than anything, to fly the Starblaster up out of the atmosphere and away from the Hunger. The other kids get their rush out of battle and close combat as they’re running to the ship, but Davenport has never been one for fighting. He specializes in illusion magic, for god’s sake.

Piloting, sailing is the first thing that’s brought him that rush of adrenaline he’s been searching for his entire life.

He’s at the very least thankful to ‘John’ for that.

The moment the last pair of feet step onto the ship, Davenport slams his foot on the right-most pedal, launching the Starblaster forward. He’s learned not to apologize to the crew for his harsh treatment during take-off, given if they don’t buckle in somewhere they could be literally thrown right off. But this is what’s necessary to get them off this planet and out of the Hunger’s reach.

From the corner of his eye, Davenport can see a mass of black opal reaching towards the ship. They had gathered the Light this year, thus the Starblaster was more of a priority for ‘John’ rather than the planet itself.

He only allows himself to breathe twice while steering. Davenport watches as the last trace of Hunger removes itself from the world below, following after the bait perfectly. Like this, they could be sure the people on that planet will actually be safe and continue living just as before. That’s one breath of relief--the next will come when they’re in the clear.

He’s never encountered a real band of pirates before.

But watching the Hunger emerge from nothing, chasing and folding in on itself to inch closer to the Starblaster, Davenport feels he has a pretty good idea what it’s like. Somewhere in there, a man named John is standing at the helm, commanding the rest of his crew to take them down. He’s probably the only captain Davenport knows of that can withstand a challenge.

With the flip of a few switches, the starblaster slows for a moment before taking off, faster than before and out of sight.

A challenge, for sure, but never so much a threat to make Davenport fear losing. 

He locks the wheel in neutral and takes his second breath while wiping his forehead. His heart is hammering at the walls of his chest, pounding against his ribcage in an attempt to break free. He holds his hand over the spot and allows himself to feel the prominent thud of his own pulse, as if he can’t already hear it thundering in his ears and through every inch of his body. His veins pull tightly beneath his skin and the feeling is akin to being wrapped tight in thin threads, threatening to be sliced open.

Instead of running down to the deck where he knows everyone is already gathered to reconvene, Davenport takes a minute not to compose himself, but to enjoy the disarray buzzing in his mind. The havoc, the chaos, the change in routine from pristine clean and order.

It’s mind-numbing.

Addictive.

He takes another look behind the ship where the previous planet has already disappeared as the ship is reset. Somewhere out there, John must be feeling frustrated to have lost again. It surely must be tearing him apart, to lose two cycles in a row now. The fact makes Davenport feel  _ giddy _ as he makes his way down to the rest of his crew.

John will spend the next year searching for them, and Davenport will enjoy spending time with his family before he’s able to reunite with his newfound rival and spice of life.

Merle is already chatting with Lucretia who’s writing every word he says down faithfully, waving when Davenport finally joins them. “Have a nice meeting?” the gnome asks, sitting beside Merle as Barry arrives with a tray of drinks. 

“Same old same old,” Merle shrugs. “This time we talked about his personal experience in the Hunger a little more, what he’s able to feel and see, stuff like that. John asked me about our home planet.”

Nothing too drastic on either side this time, it seems. Davenport can’t say he’s surprised; it’s been well over a two decades now, and the two of them have gone around in circles just… talking. Usually Merle’s reports are just about what pleasant conversation they had or some humorous banter shared. Oddly enough, Davenport would say that Merle seems to be enjoying their time together, and goes off to parley as if he’s simply walking next door to visit a friend.

It would be more upsetting if Davenport himself was not in a similar position of complex emotions dealing with their enemy.

He’s learned a lot about John from Merle over the years, small bits and pieces.

John is a human man who’s been the head of the hunger for what they assume to be eons, given he is incapable of remembering most of his past. He’s good at chess, and once Davenport heard the fact, he decided he wanted to play against him. He’s witty, sarcastic and biting. 

A professional who has yet to let his guards down around Merle completely, but has occasionally laughed out of turn before he could stop himself. A well spoken man who could persuade anybody out of their motives, their religions, their existences--all besides Merle, thankfully.

His mission is complex and still debated between the two of them, and it’s something Davenport can neither comprehend nor accept. 

Merle has told John about all of their members over time. The two parties are now mutually aware of each other, unable to communicate without Merle in between. And yet John has never reached out to them before, never told Merle to ask one of their members anything. Although Barry and Davenport have suggested topics for Merle, there hasn’t been much reaching out towards John on their side either.

Davenport has thought about it before. Sometimes after steering the Starblaster away, in a rush of adrenaline he’ll feel the need to speak with somebody about the flight, about flying in general, about the  _ battles _ he’s become enraptured in. Unfortunately, nobody on the ship would be thrilled to hear their captain speak so lightly of their lives, treating their survival as if it was a game.

He wonders if John would understand the thrill of the chase. The man sounds professional and put together, so Davenport can’t help but question if he’s even conscious of what the Hunger does as a whole. He might be assigning the man to a position he has no knowledge of, but when he’s so sure they’ll never interact on any plane of existence, it’s easier to do.

Safe and sound on the comfort of his own ship, Davenport can think whatever he wants. And for now, John will remain the captain of an enemy ship, a dastardly clever fiend who Davenport would give his arm to speak with once.

Because even if it’s fun facing him in their respective ‘ships,’ he would enjoy taking the man on in a battle of wits and words--the man’s own personal specialty.

He wants to know him.

Davenport wants to battle him in every game created, until they have to come up with their own.

“Oh yeah, Dav?” Merle says as they begin heading below the ship. Davenport only has the interest to hum behind his drink to show he heard. “John wanted to give his compliments to the captain--said last cycle was close.”

He nearly drops his cup and manages not to, but can’t stop from choking on the tea already halfway down his throat.

Merle simply laughs and keeps walking inside. But the captain remains outside for a little while longer, regaining his breath and recomposing the wild grin on his face. It’s like a game of cat and mouse in which the roles are always changing.

Never has anyone challenged him like this before, and it provides Davenport with more excitement than he knows what to do with.

* * *

Evidently, Davenport’s image of John had only been slightly warped.

Just like him, he’s a man of the chase and thrill, though he keeps himself more composed than Davenport is able to. They exchange small ‘pleasantries’ and messages through Merle every few years, mostly commenting on close flights or mutual respect.

Something in the game changes when Davenport learns that John also enjoys their ‘games.’

Something dangerous that threatens to change his perspective on their enemy.

Naturally, Davenport can never befriend their greatest enemy and threat to the universe at large. At his core he will always hate and detest everything John is and stands for.

But somewhere along the way, he started thinking the word ‘John’ in lieu of ‘the Hunger’ more often than not, personifying its actions in relation. He enjoyed hearing from Merle about their talks. He received his needed thrill of action and battle at the end of every cycle.

Sometimes they lost the Light for that planet, and sometimes they didn’t. But no matter what, Davenport always flew them out of the fray with unmatched finesse. It became something of a reason to live, just to fight at the end of the year. To get his fix. To encounter John in the only way he can.

The game is fun, and it probably always will be. However, Davenport eventually found that need for more, that  _ hunger  _ growing back inside of him, and this time, the battle couldn’t fill him. It’s subtler than before, thankfully, and he can live with it much more easily, but it isn’t pleasant. The dull ache remains in the back of his chest at all times. It pushes him forward, mumbling for Davenport to satiate it quickly.

He isn’t sure what’s preferable; always searching for something he can never find, or having known the entire time what he’s wanted and never being able to have it.

Merle doesn’t know how lucky he is, being the only one able to meet John.

Davenport slowly folds in on himself, collapsing against the wheel of the ship and panting heavily as he holds it with all his strength. He only just barely remembers to switch it into neutral.

This year’s battle was not an easy one, and for a while, Davenport believed this might’ve actually been it for them. Pieces of the ship have been torn off and there’s a lilt in their path that keeps the vehicle just slightly tilted at all times. They’ll have to repair it themselves next cycle, and he knows it’ll mostly fall upon himself and Magnus as always to work on it.

He doesn’t bother trying to straighten himself or mask his emotions as he limps down to where the others are all gathered together, and he can hear their heated conversation before he’s even there.

“But Merle, we need more information--”

“No. I’m not going back in there. It’s over.”

“What’s going on?” Davenport asks as soon as he’s close enough to squeeze into the crowd. 

Merle has his arms crossed over his chest and is shaking his head as Barry leans over him. “I’m done wasting my time with parley, at least for a good while.”

It feels like his world is crashing in on itself.

“What?”

“I’ve been chattin’ with the Hunger for over fifty years. I’ve said all I can, and now all that’s left is to kick his ass.”

That seems to appease Lup and Taako who agree instantly, and Magnus offers Merle a high five. Lucretia and Barry share an understanding look between them and nod, then conversation shifts and the crew begins to move inside.

Davenport follows at the back.

The only thing connecting him and the man he’s become obsessed with over the past fifty years has up and left, severing any ties between them completely. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking in the beginning to believe an all-powerful being such as the Hunger would take joy in their crude games. He likely hadn’t been in control of it at all.

Davenport focuses on his work.

He helps his family.

He fights the Hunger.

He tries to forget about John and fortunately, he eventually does--at the cost of everything besides his own name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> arrrrr this isn't really a pirate AU but if i make enough references and metaphors, I can consider it one in my heart
> 
> dav would beat john's ass at sea, you know.


	3. Man on the Moon

In the disarray that is the Bureau of Balance after everything is over, it’s impossible to make heads or tails out of anything.

Davenport sits on the edge of a bench in the headquarters, simply waiting for Lucretia to return so they might speak. He’s spent the majority of his time docking the Starblaster where it’ll be safe and performing minor repairs. It’s taken up a good few days and gives Davenport the time to himself he needs to repair his thoughts as well.

For ten years, he was not himself.

All he had was his name and location, hardly an identity at all. He understands it was a mistake, and he can’t blame Lucretia after everything that’s happened. He knows why she did what she had. He knows how she feels. He knows everything she did for them.

It’s between Davenport and himself to rebuild the shambles his life is in now. Like waking from a long sleep, he can finally see the new world they’re in with open eyes. Even though he was conscious the past ten years, Lucretia never much permitted Davenport to exploring the world below the moonbase. Before it was even set up she had him under close surveillance--like a child.

Davenport takes a deep breath.

He tries not to think about it too much, but it may be the hardest part.

Everyone in this world has their own preconceived notions of who he is based off some… some caricature that never thought or even existed. People see Davenport now, holding articulate conversation and producing meaningful thoughts. They’re surprised by it, and Davenport feels nothing more than a cold anger and hot shame.

On their homeworld, he was a hero.

He still is, here, to some extent. But the fact he’s saved their world doesn’t stop people from looking at him as if he’s a joke.

It’ll take time to change, all of them.

The doors to the dome open, and Davenport watches as a short figure enters. He lifts a hand in greeting at Merle and tries to regain enough composure to speak.

“Hey, Dav,” Merle says as he approaches, voice soft and kind as if they hadn’t just finished fighting the apocalypse days ago, “you mind watching over something for a couple minutes? I gotta go talk to Lucy and need to change the guard.” As he speaks, Merle tilts his head back at the door he came from.

“Sure thing,” he nods, standing as Merle gives the directions for where he has to go only to discover it’s their old dormitory. Davenport has never been in there himself, but he knows of it. Davenport’s quarters are kept close to Lucretia’s, away from everyone else.

He has no reason to remain in the headquarters any longer, given the director won’t be finished speaking with the others for hours at least. Davenport has simply been staying for the sake of having nothing else to do. Merle offers him a few parting words, asking how he’s coping, before he also shuffles inside with the others to join the meeting.

The moonbase is busy in a different way recently. Some people plan to return to their homes and help rebuild, to check on their families and so on. Others who are more dedicated to the Bureau remain and attempt to restore order for the time being as they plan their next course of action. Davenport, who has nowhere else to go, is simply along for the ride right now.

He’s capable. He knows this--he’s still the same captain and leader they had for a century, and he  _ knows _ this.

But it’s going to take more than a few days to get back there.

The dorm itself is almost empty for the same reasons; everyone is either leaving or already out and about. Davenport makes his way down to the lowest level where the boys’ dorms are without seeing a single face. The door is already unlocked when he enters.

He never visited Merle, Magnus, and Taako’s room, but the area absolutely reeks of them. There’s small bits of the three spread out in the living room and kitchen, from Merle’s potted plants to Magnus’s wood shavings and all of Taako’s crumbs and half eaten meals. As gross as the place is, Davenport can’t deny it makes his chest clench in an odd way; it reminds him of their time on the Starblaster.

He shakes his head to rid the thought from his mind and continues into the room, easily finding the door labeled ‘Merle.’

Davenport isn’t sure what he had been expecting when he agreed to watch over something for Merle. He said yes without thinking, just needing something to do.

It isn’t a something at all.

It’s somebody he doesn’t know. The fact alone is worrisome, given Davenport has been with the Bureau this entire time and  _ should _ know everyone. But he’s never seen this man before in his life. He takes a quiet step into the room, the man’s back slouched and face drawn from what he can see. Even sitting up in Merle’s bed, his suit is clean and crisp, mimicking the fashion of worlds Davenport only knows of from their travels. If he has to guess, Davenport would put him around his fifties, though it in no way detracts from his sharp features.

The words he wrote repeatedly for a year straight return to his hand, and Davenport feels his fingers twitch at the memory.

Human. Clean cut suit. Real handsome features. Middle aged, pretty normal over all.

The man looks up at Davenport as he enters, a brow slowly raising on his otherwise unmoving face. It’s a question proposed without speaking.

Davenport closes the door behind him and enters more fully now. “My name is Davenport, I’m one of Merle’s crewmates.”

He doesn’t say anything, but moves his head in a way that acknowledges the information given to him. The human leans back in the bed onto a pile of pillows stacked up like a throne behind him. He sinks into it easily and lethargically before closing his eyes and releasing a deep exhale.

This is him, then.

Davenport moves to sit in the chair beside his bed, no doubt where Merle had been just a while ago. Books are piled up in a stack next to the seat with another smaller collection on the other side, read and unread. He doesn’t bother picking one up to make the time go by and simply stares ahead at the man lying before him.

This is the Hunger.

This is John.

Now able to take a closer look, Davenport finds that he isn’t exactly as Merle once described. His suit jacket is off and hung over the headboard, the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone. Although he knows John can be no older than sixty (and he’s likely younger than that) in human years, he appears so much older like this, debilitated and with long lines in his face. He’s handsome, yes, but not in the way Davenport once expected.

It’s surreal seeing him now in this manner. Davenport isn’t sure what he once imagined their meeting to be like, but it never would’ve been like this. Perhaps in a battle, or some grand confrontation at the end of the world. Now, those have both been done, and they’re living in a happily-ever-after he never expected to come true. In all of his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have anticipated the fact John would be here.

Could this even be considered the same man?

At one point, all they knew of John was the fact he enjoyed speaking, enjoyed arguing and debate. He and Merle filled up fifty years worth of time together just like that, just  _ talking _ . John as a concept is ‘witty’ and ‘clever,’ with strong opinions and the ability to articulate any perspective clearly.

The man in front of him is hardly that. He looks to be knocking on death’s door and simply waiting for one particular breath to be his last. There’s no concern or thought for his appearance, and he holds himself with not an ounce of dignity. If anything, the man is wading deep in his own shame, unable to care enough to even sit up or hold himself together for a guest.

For thousands of years if not more, he traveled across planar systems and devoured them whole, accumulating every living or once-living creature into his being. He consumed every world without thought or regret. The Hunger had been, undoubtedly, the most fearsome force in any universe, stronger than any god or celestial plane put together. Had it not been for the IPRE, he may have continued for eternity ripping apart every world he came across.

But he failed.

And now he’s here, a shell of a man who hasn’t existed in millennia. 

In the back of his mind, Davenport can hear his own voice repeating his name, unable to form another response. As usual, the thought makes bile rise up in his throat, and he has to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from causing a scene right here. By the time he looks back up, a pair of eyes are watching him, and Davenport is surprised to see John staring straight into him.

They’re not that different, are they?

John blinks slowly, no emotion on his face.

This man hardly move, and can’t speak or perform the most basic of tasks by himself after being the most powerful being within the entire universe. The fall from grace was long and hard, debilitating him entirely.

But beyond that, within his eyes, Davenport can make out the hint of a living person still within him. Someone who must be frustrated, ashamed, embarrassed, and so mad at the world for what it’s done to him but unable to do anything about it.

Davenport can’t rationalize why he starts talking, but he does.

“I was the captain of the Starblaster, the ship we were all on for our century throughout the universe,” he says, not breaking eye contact once. “I was the leader of the entire mission, responsible for everyone’s safety as well as the advancement of our cause. It was a lot of work over a hundred years, but we made it in the end.”

He leaves out the details about John’s involvement for now. They can work their way up to that, given he has no idea how it might cause the man to react.

Davenport stops to wet his suddenly dry tongue before he picks back up. “When we landed on this world, I was forced to forget everything…”

It’s only been a few days since the final battle, since the moment Davenport regained all sense of self and was able to wake up. He hasn’t even fully come to terms with everything that’s happened to him, everything that’s happened in general. There’s so much information and experiences to sort through, memories he doesn’t register as his own, that he feels he might never be able to justify the past decade.

But he tells the story anyways. In a way, it puts thoughts he’s had the past few days into words, allowing him to better contextualize his feelings without running himself in circles. This is the first time he’s brought it up out loud to anyone, or spoken about it to any of his friends.

The first chance he has to open up, and it’s to the Hunger.

John watches him the entire time he talks. Davenport never slows or breaks pace, recounting each memory with a foggy lens that makes it difficult but not impossible. John’s face doesn’t move, and all he can do is slowly blink at the gnome speaking.

It’s a story not heard before about a man with bright eyes and ambition to fuel the entire world. A captain, optimistic and full of life, prepared to take on anything for the sake of bettering their world. A pilot turned leader who has to be responsible for six others in worlds never encountered, fighting an impossible battle.

It’s about friendship and love, the story everyone now knows, as well as the agony and suffering that is less desired, but still true.

However, it’s not just about a leader, a captain, a  _ man _ who has his entire being stripped away from him until he’s only a husk with a name. The story has not yet finished, won’t be for a while, and there’s hope when Davenport turns the next page and discovers a new chapter waiting beyond the cliffhanger. A new chapter about restoration and living again.

John doesn’t move as he speaks, but Davenport likes to think that he might have seen something in his eyes change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah this is getting another chapter, sue me. so far this has just been character studies and we gotta get some romance up in here so get ready for the next one where i promise old men will kiss
> 
> sorry i get so into analyzing these old dudes and getting emotional. next chapter is romance


	4. Man on the Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took twenty years

It’s refreshing to feel the wind rolling off the sea after so long feeling, well, not a lot of anything. There isn’t a ton of nature on the moonbase, and for Davenport who has always been a man of exploration and adventure, it may as well have been hell. He takes in a deep lungful of air and holds it in until his throat burns and then sighs loudly. 

Out here, on the ocean, on his own boat, he can stretch out his arms and feel the sun beating down on his skin only to be immediately cooled by the wind and spray of salt water. The boat rocks confidently atop not-too smooth waves that keep the ride interesting.

There’s no apocalypse looming over their head.

No expiration date on this world.

Davenport’s done running, and for the first time in over a century, he can finally  _ breathe _ again, even if he doesn’t quite know how to. The shift in mindset moving from being constantly moving, always fleeing and fighting for their lives to now is a large one. There were times of peace in the century away, yes, but danger was always in the background.

He turns around fully to face his singular passenger to find the human already watching him.

If he needs a reminder they’re safe, it’s the fact their greatest enemy is right before him.

John appears out of place on the ship, or in this world at all. He curls in on himself wherever they go and now is no exception, hunched over his folded hands with white knuckles. His eyes follow Davenport wherever he goes expectantly as if simply waiting on the gnome to finish up. After a few moments of watching each other, John averts his eyes and looks out onto the ocean instead.

Perhaps it’s best not to say anything at all.

Davenport takes a lap around the small ship making sure everything is in order which, of course it is, but the routine feels nice anyways. As much as the Starblaster is a ship of the same sort, it feels completely different sailing through space and in the ocean. Not to mention he isn’t battling another boat as they soar away from planets now--another significant difference.

That rival captain, that fearless leader who chased them for years, is before him now. Out of place. Out of his own head. He takes a seat beside John once he finally makes his way back to where he’s sitting and regains the human’s attention.

“I don’t think I went out on the ocean much when I was human,” John says, fingers trailing the wooden bench they’re on top of absentmindedly. “But it isn’t unfamiliar.”

“You humans are naturally drawn to the sea, it isn’t a surprise--like a second-nature habitat.”

John smiles at his words and lifts his head to watch the waves. Davenport follows his eye. “I wonder if you could call me human at this point.” His voice is much quieter, contemplative, and part of Davenport believes it isn’t meant for him to respond to.

He does anyways, because it needs to be said. “Maybe not,” he says with a nod, “but you can get back there, I think.”

“Like you’re doing?”

His fingers tense and curl in over his knees imperceptibly before relaxing again. The mere mention of Davenport’s history, his condition, what he is and isn’t has haunted him ever since he became capable again. He tries not to speak of it as much as he can, and for the most part refuses to speak to anyone else about it.

Besides John. The human watches him expectantly with some odd strain of sympathy that exists only between them. John has it worse than Davenport, ten times over--but he’s easiest to speak with. Sometimes, his greatest enemy is the most painless person to be around some days. Much like today.

“Yeah,” Davenport agrees, “in a way. You’ve got a few more hurdles to cross than I do, though; at least I’m used to having a physical form.” He teases John with a lighthearted elbow to his side, and somehow, John manages to chuckle in spite of himself.

“You’re definitely not wrong.”

Their relationship is… delicate.

Davenport can’t trace where it came from besides the initial conditions that brought them together in their similarity, but that’s not all it is anymore. He went to John because he could help, and he had a feeling it would help himself as well.

And it did. They work well together, and though they remain separate a good majority of the time, they will occasionally seek each other out to speak. Merle is the designated officer in charge of keeping John under control, naturally, but sometimes he ‘doesn’t understand’ in the way John needs somebody to. That’s what Davenport is for.

Somewhere between meeting up to cope with their messy lives, things changed, ever so marginally.

John began opening up beyond his obvious issues with becoming mortal and mentioned personal details about his previous life. Davenport filled empty moments in with recounted stories from his homeworld and how it built up to here. As odd as it is, something like a very specific type of friendship bloomed between them, and now the world devourer, the Hunger himself, has wormed his way into Davenport’s close circle.

His friendship is valuable in a way different from all his other friends.

“I can see why you like it out here,” John says, disrupting the silence. When Davenport looks up, John is staring off towards the horizon again where the sun is just flirting with the idea of setting. “It’s… peaceful, in a way you don’t get on the land.”

“I enjoy sailing before anything else, but it’s nice to sit here and let nature take control. Lose that responsibility for a while.” Even though responsibility is all Davenport’s been trying to regain. He smooths out the unwrinkled fabric over his legs for lack of anything else to fidget with. “I thought you would like the quiet.”

“I do.” John remains quiet for a few more beats of silence before continuing. “It reminds me of… how the Hunger used to feel. Thousands, billions, trillions of souls together in one large pool, a sea of chaos. But I’m not inside of it, this time--that’s comforting.”

John stands, then, and walks just a few feet away to lean over the railing of the ship.

“Thank you for taking me out here, Davenport. For the postcards, as well.” He smiles at the gnome, in a way both somber and somehow still bright. Tired, exhausted, but relieved.

And there’s the worst part of all of this, curling inside Davenport’s chest. Because of course he couldn’t just stop at being friends with his greatest rival.

Davenport follows after him and stands on the seat John had been in to make up for a bit of the height so he can cross his arms over the rail. “Of course.”

If the friendship between them is delicate, then Davenport’s feelings are worn threads, more fragile than anything he’s encountered before. He doesn’t quite know where they came from, but can trace them back to a night alone spent playing chess for hours. They drank wine and spoke of strategy and battle, of adrenaline and thrills. It meant something to him to be understood, especially for something he’s been… ashamed of? Perhaps embarrassment is the word, given he tries to maintain a professional aura yet can’t shake his love for all things dangerous.

All of the excitement Davenport has during fights and escape missions, John experiences as well in his own different way.

More and more as they come to learn each other, they find more in common. Davenport never expected to be so alike his worst enemy, but it makes sense after a while. He understood the Hunger long before he spoke with it. It’s how he fought it.

But there’s no battle here, no chase, and the only thrill Davenport feels is the thrum of his own blood rushing through his veins, quickening when John looks back down at him. He smiles. Davenport does too.

It isn’t that unusual, he thinks.

With how natural this feels, it was inevitable from the start.

Davenport was gone long before they met. It all began with a few words from Merle, a description without a face and a name without a body.

He was gone when he spent years repeating simple words, deciphering their meanings, and trying to understand the man behind the monster with nothing else to go off of.

Now, it’s almost impossible for others to see the Hunger in John after all this time has passed. But Davenport can see it at his edges and in the corners of his eyes, ever present, ever visible to anyone who cared enough to look. 

After who knows how long of simply listening to the waves crash against the side of the ship, Davenport speaks up. “Is Merle treating you well at his place?”

“Yes,” John immediately answers, pausing as a strange look contorts his face for a moment. “Yes, but as much as I enjoy our time together, I fear my constant presence may be holding him back from doing what he wants. Bureau rules have me under constant supervision, and I can tell he wants… more from this life. Right now, at least.”

Davenport knows John wouldn’t tell this to just anybody. As they’ve become closer, he’s become the only person John can talk about his situation with Merle seriously to. Not only does Davenport know Merle more than most, but he’s learning John as well. The two of them get along well, more than Davenport expected, but he can understand why John allowed Merle to continue parley during their century.

“Unfortunately, it’s not my place to decide where I go,” John finishes with a small shrug and a smile down at Davenport.

It isn’t. After this, they’ll dock the ship, Davenport will walk back with him to Merle’s beach, and they’ll part ways until his next voyage is finished. The Bureau could only agree with John’s continued existence if he were to be watched at all times, given his previous power. Merle was the obvious option for a supervisor and has been doing his job quite well.

If he could, he would easily take another day to spend more time with John. Davenport has his own life, his own responsibilities that he can’t just throw away--tomorrow he’ll leave and take back to the ocean. The few visits they get together are never enough, only a few hours every couple weeks or sometimes even months. For all Davenport has come to care for him, it isn’t fair in the slightest.

If he could, he would spend every day with the man.

Their time together never grows old, never is boring, and Davenport always walks away with some new insight about himself or the world around them. Even when they aren’t talking about life and heavy topics, learning about John on a personal level has been nothing but a treat. At first it may have been about Davenport regaining his own autonomy and coping through helping John, but it continued past that until they were friends. Until he wanted to see John for John. Until he wanted to be the one helping him because he cared.

Tomorrow, Davenport will leave. He’ll regroup with his crew and set sails to their next destination. He won’t be back for at least a month.

The image of John, sitting back in Merle’s house and looking over his postcards is clear in his mind.

He speaks without thinking, allowing the adrenaline to command him once more.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

John looks down at him, wide eyed. The response comes faster than Davenport expected, and he suspects they may both be running on the thrill yet again.

“Okay.”

Surprised more by himself for asking the question than the answer he receives, Davenport stares up at John in shock. Then he allows a smile to overtake his face and watches the expression reflect back at him from John. “I’m a Bureau and IPRE member as well, it isn’t against the rules for you to leave Merle if you’re still being supervised,” he explains, as if John hasn’t already agreed to come.

“We’ll have to tell Merle. He might appreciate the time off.”

“It’ll be at least a month before we’re back.”

There’s an odd spark in John’s eye as the smile on his face widens. “At least?”

Davenport feels the corners of his own lips stretching farther back. “Maybe longer.”

John can’t hold back a chuckle as he turns his head back to watch the now setting sun. Davenport does the same. It’s a beautiful evening, and he thinks for the first time he might be noticing colors in the sky he hadn’t seen before. The breeze feels cooler on his warmed skin. The air tastes kinder.

Before a spray of water can come up from over the edge and cover Davenport’s hand, John’s fingers do.

He flips his hand over, palm up on the railing, to hold it more firmly.

Tomorrow, Davenport will leave. His friends will stay where they are, waiting for him to return and visit. They’ll miss him, and he’ll feel the same, naturally. But this time, he won’t be alone.

There’ll be another pair of hands on deck. Another set of eyes on the horizon. Two names on the postcards. 

And two captains on the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> considering writing another part for this just because it isnt too romantic? but this felt like a good place to end it for now. so there may be more coming, maybe not! but i definitely love these two and would love writing more for them
> 
> somehow writing this fic made me really attached to davenport as a character

**Author's Note:**

> yarr harr pirate terminology and metaphors be ahead
> 
> thanks for reading this newly birthed rare pair. come chill out with me on [my tumblr](ludella.tumblr.com) where I frequently take requests and talk a lot about the adventure zone and other stuff. we have fun


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